


All-Male Hilarity

by Twinklysmiles



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Little plot, No Fluff, Non-Consensual Tickling, Sadism, Tickling, Trapped, extreme tickle torture, restrained
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twinklysmiles/pseuds/Twinklysmiles
Summary: The one, where every male crew member of the Enterprise is subjected to extreme tickle torture.Fulfilling an anonymous request for tickle torture on the Enterprise.This is a shameless, non-con tickle fic with no fluff and little plot.You have been warned.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning! Please read the tags!  
> This is not one of my fluffy tickle fics, so if you’re not into non-con tickle torture, this is not for you.

Uhura woke up to the sounds of noisy hilarity, surrounded by a cacophony of hysterical giggling, cackling, howling, and shrieking, intermingled with desperate begging and pleas for mercy. Sounds so out of place on the bridge of the Enterprise that even the communication officer’s trained ear couldn’t make sense of it. Not in her dazed state anyway.

Gingerly touching a hand to her throbbing head, Uhura tried to shake the dizziness and get her eyes to focus on her surroundings. She was sitting in her usual place in front of her console, but why she should have been asleep right here on bridge duty, she had no idea. Something, or someone must have knocked her out. As the fog around her brain slowly dissolved, and all of her senses kicked back in, she finally started to wonder why everyone else on the bridge was screaming laughter.

Slowly swivelling around in her chair to check with Captain Kirk, she felt her blood run cold at the scene before her. Her first instinct was to race over and rescue the captain, but her Starfleet training prevented her from rushing in without a plan. So she quickly let her gaze sweep around the bridge to gather more information and get a clear picture of what was going on.

Apparently, the bridge had been invaded by a number of exceptionally tall, incredibly beautiful women with seemingly identical, expressionless faces, who looked decidedly human apart from having four pairs of arms instead of only one, sprouting from their sides all the way down to their hips.

One of these women was standing behind the command chair, holding a dishevelled Kirk’s arms high above his head in an iron grip with her top two hands, while her remaining three sets of hands were torturing the captain in a way that chilled Uhura to the bone, as soon as she realised the full extent of his ordeal.

The captain’s shirt had been rolled up to his chest, exposing his belly and sides for thirty perfectly manicured fingers to wreak ticklish havoc on his bare skin. One set of hands was delicately running up and down his sides, making the poor man jerk from side to side in distress, while another set was lightly scribbling all over his stomach and belly, making him buck uncontrollably.

The fourth pair of hands had obviously found a special sweet spot on both sides of Kirk’s lower belly, seemingly inflicting the most diabolical torture on the captain’s sensitive abdomen despite their fingers hardly moving at all, yet eliciting the most frenzied response by relentlessly drawing slow and deliberate circles around these exact spots.

Kirk’s whole body was convulsed with helpless mirth, at least as much as his restrained position allowed, his legs kicking the air frantically, while the woman’s vice-like grip on his wrists held him firmly in place with no choice but to suffer the harrowing touches. Uhura shuddered, remembering that she’d once overheard Dr. McCoy teasing the captain about his ‘tummy being too damn ticklish for a simple physical exam’, and couldn’t even begin to comprehend what the man must be going through.

Looking at the state of him, Uhura didn’t even dare to think about how long this horrible torture must have been going on already. Kirk’s face was scrunched up in agony, his eyes squeezed tightly shut with tears streaming out of the corners. His damp hair was matted to his scalp, his shirt drenched in sweat, a sheen of perspiration covering his flushed face and his whole spasming body, as endless peals of laughter were forced from his wide-open mouth by the many hands of the woman currently standing behind him.

Uhura could see that the captain was desperately trying to form words, presumably to beg for mercy, but the relentless assault on his obscenely ticklish midriff rendered him unable to do anything but laugh and fight for breath, his torture so intense that he was reduced to silent laughter most of the time.

Looking past the captain across the bridge, Uhura saw Scotty slumped forward in his chair at the engineering station, pressed face-down against the console by another woman holding his arms firmly crossed behind his neck, his shirt rolled up almost over his head, trapping his elbows.

Unlike Kirk’s, Scotty’s laughter was booming, interrupted by a constant stream of panicked screams like “Mercy!” or “I cannae take it!” or “I beg of ya!” or “Lord help me!”. The chief engineer’s body was shaking with laughter as the fingertips of one pair of hands skittered all over his shoulder blades, reducing him to a cackling mess, while the fingers of another pair were focusing on a few evil spots on his lower back, right above the waist of his uniform trousers, making the muscles there quiver and jolt with every brush of the pointy fingernails.

The last set of hands had found an even more devious way to make the chief engineer squeal, curse, and jerk violently by poking the backs of his underarms in a very specific and apparently lethal spot near the rim.

Tearing her gaze off Scotty’s horrific predicament, Uhura let her eyes travel towards the front of the bridge, where Sulu was practically lying prone across his station, held in place, or rather, by the looks of it, viciously rendered immobile by two vibrating hands in his armpits, ceaselessly drilling his hollows. The helmsman’s shirt had been removed completely, and his uniform pants pulled down to his knees. He was howling with laughter, barely able to grit out a plea to stop now and then, while being reduced to helpless cackling by all the other hands skilfully tormenting him.

One pair was feathering up and down the backs of Sulu’s thighs, a sensation so intense, he could hardly breathe. Another set of hands was viciously assaulting his hips, squeezing the perfect spots to make him buck, and squirm, and visibly want to jump out of his skin. The remaining two hands were clawing at his sides, up to his underarms and down again, making him jolt and throw back his head in ticklish agony every time they touched a certain sweet spot between his two lowest ribs. Uhura nearly lost it just watching, knowing exactly how excruciating those spots were, since they were in the top five of her own worst spots, too.

To Sulu’s right, Chekov was lying on the floor, pinned on his back next to his chair not by one, but two of the devilish women. Uhura gasped at the sight, knowing fully well how unbearably ticklish Chekov was. The boy’s face was a deep crimson as he was screaming and laughing his head off, utterly unable to beg for mercy and probably way beyond any coherent thought.

Being unbearably sensitive from head to toe, with the most adorable giggle to boot, the young Russian had been the target of many a tickle assault by his friends and crew mates in the past. And apparently, he was ticklish enough to warrant even two of these obnoxious women dedicated to torturing his body.

For better access, Chekov had been stripped down to his briefs, and now had to deal with a total of eighty deft fingers on the bare skin all over his body. One of the women had pulled his arms over his head and was pinning them under her legs while tormenting his neck with gentle tickles, causing him to squeal and thrash his head from side to side in a vain attempt to protect the most sensitive areas. Two more hands were busy drilling his exposed armpits, a sure way to drive most anyone insane, and Chekov was definitely no exception.

Another two hands were attacking the young man’s abs, returning again and again to a very specific and highly torturous spot high on either side of the boy’s stomach, making him jerk forcefully and cry out, “Nyet!” with every cruel scratch of the woman’s fingernails there. And the last pair of hands was solely focused on teasing Chekov’s lower belly, which Uhura knew to be another one of the boy’s absolutely deadly areas, exerting the most excruciating torture by trailing their fingers lightly along the elastic of his briefs, fiendishly lingering on a few particularly harrowing spots.

And as if all of that wasn’t devastating enough, a second woman was straddling Chekov’s ankles, thus pinning his legs to the floor with no room to twitch or twist to escape the heinously torturous ministrations of her forty fingers. Uhura could hardly look at another one of her personal death spots being tormented: the crevices where hips meet legs. And the way this woman’s fingers were ruthlessly drilling into these spots was a particularly diabolical method, too.

The remaining six hands were tormenting Chekov’s inner thighs, another horrendously sensitive area, all around the knees, sadistically lingering on those sweet spots at the back, and, of course, the wickedly ticklish bottoms of his feet, Chekov’s otherwise tightly closed eyes flying wide open every time the evil fingers scratched under his toes, giving his contorted face an almost deranged look.

Letting her gaze travel on to the final station on the bridge, right to her other side, Uhura was shell-shocked when her eyes fell on Spock. She’d never have guessed that the Vulcan was ticklish at all, but being half human, he quite obviously was. And at least as horrendously ticklish as any of the others on the bridge were, too.

Unlike the others, however, his was still fully clothed in his uniform, but the woman holding his legs high up in the air by the ankles, as he was lying on the floor in front of the science station, had removed his boots and socks, and was tormenting the soles of his feet with no less than three pairs of hands. Assuming that these women somehow knew everyone’s worst spots, Spock’s were obviously his feet. Who would have guessed? 

Uhura knew that she had to do something to save her crew mates from this unbearable torture, and fast, but she almost couldn’t tear her eyes off Spock, mesmerized by the pure, completely un-Vulcan distress on his face, his arms flailing helplessly all around, his hands sometimes tearing at his ears, his mouth twisted and opened wide in a silent scream.

Spock’s torment seemed unendurable, even for the usually stoic Vulcan. His chest was heaving, his breath coming in frenzied spasms, his torso thrashing around frantically, bucking and writhing in agony, yet no sound was coming out of his mouth. No giggling, no cackling, no laughter, just silent suffering.

He couldn’t even plead or beg, and Uhura’s heart went out to him, as he jerked violently with every touch of those diabolical fingers to his toes, every scratch across his arches, every torment of his sensitive heels. Fingers skittering all over the balls of his feet seemed to bother him especially, his hands clenching and unclenching with every stroke.

His insteps were definitely another sweet spot, desperate gasps being forced out of him whenever the devilish fingers lingered there. But worst of all was the area underneath his toes, his fists frantically pounding the floor whenever the fingers scratched along the stems or between the toes.

The answer to the question that had been on Uhura’s mind ever since discovering her crew mates’ unspeakable suffering, wondering why she was being spared from this cruel torture and unable to even imagine such relentless tickling being inflicted anywhere on her body, seemed clear as soon as she realised that she was currently the only woman on the bridge.

Finally springing into action, Uhura raced over to the captain, trying to prise the tormenting hands off him, but she couldn’t move them even an inch, as the woman simply ignored her. Feeling another presence, Kirk briefly opened his tear-filled eyes, looking imploringly at Uhura and grinding out a strained, “Help, please!” from gritted teeth, before falling back into helpless laughter.

Realising that she didn’t have the strength to free the captain from those diabolical fingers, Uhura rounded the command chair and hurled herself against the woman with full force, hoping to throw her off balance at least, but Kirk’s tormentor remained unmoved, not even faltering for a second in her ticklish assault on the captain’s sensitive and exposed abdomen.

In a desperate attempt, Uhura tried tickling the woman’s several underarms, neck, hips and belly, but this creature, whatever she was, didn’t even flinch, her face remaining as emotionless as it had been the whole time. In a way she reminded Uhura of Nomad, the android, who had been standing on the bridge, unmovably, for days, taking the Enterprise to Mudd’s Planet.

When it was clear that she couldn’t save the captain, she moved over to Scotty, trying her luck there, but it soon became obvious that there was nothing she could do to help the delirious engineer, who was still crying out pleas for mercy between his increasingly demented-sounding laughter, escape this tickle hell, either.

With an anguished look at the three other men, still suffering unimaginable torture, their bodies spasming and thrashing from being tickled way beyond their limits, Uhura made for the turbolift, hoping to make it to security and then come back with reinforcement and weapons.

But of course, the doors didn’t open, and she painfully bumped into them. She tried the manual override, but, unsurprisingly, that didn’t work either. Uhura briefly thought about opening the console and trying to shortcut her way into the lift, but finding a way that wouldn’t shortcut the lift as well, would take far too long. Time she clearly didn’t have, if the ever more desperate sounding cackling and shrieks behind her were anything to go by.

Oh how she wished Scotty could help with some of his magic, or Kirk would come up with one of his resourceful escape plans. But the men were completely out of it. Busy just laughing and breathing and generally enduring the unendurable, hopefully hanging on to their sanity long enough for her to get help and end their horrendous ordeal.

No, she was on her own. Stuck on the bridge with probably the most ticklish senior officers in Starfleet, and no idea what this whole tickle attack was about in the first place. Trying to block out the forced hilarity behind her, Uhura sat down at her console and opened a channel to security, hoping they’d soon come storming onto the bridge to end the merciless tickle torture and save her friends from this awful nightmare before they were tickled to insanity.


	2. Chapter 2

“Bridge to security!” Uhura shouted over the ticklish racket all around her.

There was no answer.

“Bridge to security! Come in, security!” she tried again with a sense of foreboding.

To her right, Kirk was starting to wheeze, as the diabolical assault on his ridiculously ticklish belly and sides seemed to be taken to a new dimension, while she could hardly hear Scotty anymore, whose tickler appeared to have found an even more torturous way to exploit that lethal spot at the back of his armpits, finally reducing even the hollering Scotsman to silent laughter.

To her left, Spock was now pounding his fists on the floor so hard, that Uhura could feel the deck vibrating under her boots. Quite obviously, even the unflappable Vulcan had reached his limits and just couldn’t take the 30 vicious fingers, all focused on his excruciatingly ticklish soles, anymore.

Chekov behind her was alternating between silent agony, rendered completely help- and breathless when the focus was on the various death spots on his upper body, and ear-splitting shrieks, when his feet and legs were ravaged in the most harrowing ways.

As for Sulu, he was still cackling and howling like a maniac, the pitch of his voice varying according to which part of his body got the most attention at any given time. The woman, standing so impassively behind him while tormenting him in the most heinous manner, seeming to play him like an instrument.

“Security, please come in!” Uhura made one last attempt at getting through to the department that would hopefully end this atrocious ordeal, and felt a surge of relief, when her call was finally answered.

“Security here, Lt. Mitchel speaking,” the female voice sounded far away, and Uhura’s heart sank, when she heard the unmistakably ticklish laughter and screams for mercy in the background.

“What’s going on down there?” she asked, even though the answer was already perfectly clear.

“We were attacked!” Mitchel reported. “We were overpowered before we knew it, and now the men are being … they are …” the lieutenant’s voice trailed off.

“Being tickled?” Uhura supplied.

“Yes! Oh my God, it’s brutal! How did you know?”

“Same here on the bridge,” Uhura sighed. “So, what are you doing to fight this?”

“We’ve already tried so many things, but nothing works. And our phasers have all been drained, they’re useless. What’s worse, two thirds currently on shift are men, so we’re simply outnumbered, too.”

“We’re really out of ideas here, Uhura!” came another female voice, that of her friend Janice Rand – whatever she was doing down in security – over the comm. “But we have to come up with something fast, because I’m not sure how much longer some of the men can take it. I mean, I don’t know what those monsters are doing to them, because, surely, not every man in here can be so intensely, horrifyingly ticklish, but they’re all howling and crying with laughter, without exception. It’s cruel. Some of them are already so far gone, I’m afraid they might actually die from this devilish torture. We can’t just stand here and watch them being tickled into oblivion!”

“WOOHOOHOO!” a sound almost like a cheer floated through the comm onto the bridge.

“What’s that?” Uhura asked, taken aback.

“Oh, that’s Chief Milagros back there,” Mitchel explained. “He’s super ticklish, maybe even the most ticklish one around here. Although I have to admit it’s almost satisfying to see him getting tortured like this, because he has this thing for tickling. He’ll always sneak up on people tickling the living daylights out of everyone, so it’s kind of good to see him get a taste of his own medicine. Up till now we didn’t even know he was ticklish at all, let alone as devastatingly as this. Mind you, the way he whoops and cheers, you might think he’s actually enjoying his ordeal. But when you look at the tormented expression on his face and the way he desperately tries to escape, thrashing and bucking like crazy, you can easily see that he’s approaching breaking point, too.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely suffering,” Janice chimed in. “Guess he won’t be going around tickling the shit out of people anymore after this, now that we know where and how to easily destroy him, too. Those monster-women really know what they’re doing. They must have some kind of sensor to find the most ticklish spots, there’s no other explanation for the cruelty and intensity of the torture they inflict.”

‘The horrible truth,’ Uhura thought, suddenly distracted by an incoming call from sickbay.

“Sorry, Mitchel!” Uhura shouted, “I must take another call. See what they report from sickbay. But somehow, I’m not very hopeful anymore. Please keep trying everything you can think of, and maybe get some of the weapons working. The men can’t help themselves, they’re counting on us to get them out of this horrible nightmare. I’ll try to get off the bridge somehow, to see how many ticklers there really are, and if there’s any safe areas left on the Enterprise. To think that some of the men have been peacefully asleep in their beds and are now undergoing the same unbearable torture all alone in their quarters!”

“Unimaginable, Uhura! We’ll all try our best. Let us know what’s going on in sickbay!”

* * *

“Bridge here!” Uhura took the incoming call.

The communications officer didn’t have to shout so much anymore, since the poor men around her seemed to fall more and more into silent laughter mode.

‘Their ordeal must be getting so much worse with every passing minute,’ she thought with a shudder.

“Oh Nyota, it’s terrible!” Chapel’s distraught voice came over the comm. “We need help! I can’t do anything to relieve their suffering, and I can’t get out of sickbay, either. Sally, Tina and I keep trying to get these monsters off them, or at least get them to stop, but they’re simply ignoring us! They are even immune to every sedative I’ve tried. We just don’t know what to do anymore! If they keep this up much longer, they’re going to kill them!”

“Slow down Christine,” Uhura told her friend. “Tell me what happened.”

“Those women stormed into sickbay and grabbed us. They are so incredibly strong, like they’re made of steel. And then they just started to ... to tickle the men. It’s torture, Nyota! Diabolical! They won’t even give them a break. Mark and Rob, our orderlies on duty, can hardly breathe any more, and our three male patients are suffering unbelievably, too, especially Farraday. They went straight for his feet, as if they knew how he can’t even stand to be touched there. I could hardly treat his broken foot, he’s so ticklish. And now, what they’re doing to him, he just can’t take it!”

She sounded like she was crying, but Uhura was having none of that. Breaking down wasn’t helping anybody.

“Keep reporting, Christine,” she demanded. “I need to know everything that’s going on, so I can come up with a plan.

“Well, I thought at least M’Benga was going to be all right,” Christine snuffled, blowing her nose, “because he was just laughing. Really hard, mind you, but not shrieking or begging like all the others. But then they started on his bellybutton, and he completely lost it. It’s awful!”

She paused a little, blowing her nose again.

“And McCoy probably has it worst of all. I never knew anyone could even be so horribly ticklish. Like, everywhere! And they’re permanently finding even worse spots on him.”

“They?” Uhura asked.

“Yes, he’s being tortured by two of them, can you believe it?”

Uhura could, casting a quick glance over her shoulder, where Chekov looked like he was going to burst with ticklish laughter under the harrowing ministrations of his two ticklers. So that’s what was in store for the poor, obviously exceptionally ticklish CMO, too.

“Uhura, he’s in agony,” Chapel broke into her thoughts. “I don’t know how much longer he can last. I’ve never seen anyone suffering like this. And I’ve never heard anyone screaming laughter like this. He’s going absolutely berserk, he must be so unbearably ticklish! He started out cursing and threatening in typical McCoy style, but now he’s just crying for help and pleading for mercy whenever he’s not reduced to silent laughter. Oh my God, I need to get back to him and try to help him somehow. He’s easily the most ticklish man in the universe. He might actually die from this.”

“Ok, go back to him, but try to stay calm,” Uhura told her friend. “If all of us women work together, we’ll find a way to save our men.”

“But I can hear laughing and screaming in the corridor outside sickbay, too. Those ticklers seem to be everywhere!”

“I know, Christine, they’re also in security, and the girls there can’t get out either. But I’ll try to shortcut the doors, so we can at least move around. Try not to panic and keep the channel open!”

‘Easier said than done,’ Chapel thought, slumping down in a chair, the horrible scenes replaying in her mind.

Those abominable women had started on Mark and Rob first, reducing the strong and burly orderlies to a cackling ticklish mess in mere moments. Before they’d even quite understood what was happening to them, they were laughing hysterically, begging for mercy and offering whatever the ticklers might want, if only they would stop their unbearable assault. Unfortunately, the ticklers didn’t seem to want anything other than tickling them out of their minds. They didn’t even react, let alone respond to their pleas.

Ripping Mark’s shirt off, the woman had come to stand behind him, lifting him a few inches off the floor by his hips as if he weighed nothing, her firm grip forcing the first peals of laughter from him, as her fingers seemed to vibrate against his obviously ultra-sensitive hipbones. A second pair of arms had grabbed his elbows, holding his arms out straight to the side, while the fingers of two more hands kept poking and prodding his ribs, eliciting tormented squeals and shrieks with every poke deviously administered to his acute sweet spots there.

What seemed to get to him most, however, were the fingers of the last set of hands, targeting his absolutely worst spot, his neck. It was the fingers that viciously skittered and feathered around his neck, from behind his ears to under his chin and down to his collarbones, that had him beg and offer his firstborn, whenever he could get a word out between all the ticklish cackling, giggling and screaming.

Rob hadn’t been faring any better, really. His tickler had hefted him facedown onto an examination table, straddling his legs, and pinning his arms to his sides, after having pulled down his pants to his knees, and rolled up his shirt to his neck. She then let two sets of hands roam all over his back, using 20 vicious fingers to home in on his most ticklish spots, among them the area between his shoulder blades and the full length down from his underarms to his hips, exactly where back meets sides. The fourth pair of hands was solely committed to torturing his buttocks and the thighs right underneath with the lightest scratching of fingernails, which seemed to be absolute agony for him. Chapel had never heard anyone howl with laughter like that before.

Christine and the others had wanted to help, of course, but were helplessly caught in those strange women’s iron grip, forced to just watch the diabolical torture. The nurse didn’t like to be tickled, either, but not being too ticklish herself, didn’t really fear it. When she looked around and saw the terrified looks on McCoy, Farraday, and her female colleagues, however, she guessed they belonged in the dreadfully ticklish category. Of course, Sally and Tina hadn’t found out that the ticklers were obviously only after the men yet.

Next were the patients, the three male ones, anyway, and McCoy had screamed murder at the ticklers, when they’d started to inflict their terrible torture on them as well. One of the women had immediately targeted Farraday’s excruciatingly sensitive feet, pinning him down in his bed by straddling his thighs and using all of her 40 fingers exclusively on his soles, making him fall into silent laughter almost instantly, thrashing his head and his torso around in ticklish agony, jolting upright to a sitting position every now and then and futilely pounding his fists on the tickler’s unyielding back.

With all those fingers tormenting every wrinkle and spot on his soles, Chapel couldn’t even make out what his worst spots were. He had circles drawn on his heels, nails scratching up and down his arches, and scribbling under his toes. Some fingers traced the outside of his feet, while others pinched his toes or poked in between them. McCoy was visibly going pale beside her, just watching such horrible torture.

The other two patients hadn’t got their feet touched, but had their shirts removed, their arms held high above their heads, laughing and howling uncontrollably as their underarms, ribs and sides were mercilessly attacked. Their armpits seemed to be real death spots for both of them, and while they both had their bellies relentlessly tickled as well, one of them went absolutely berserk when his ribs were being clawed at, and the other one just couldn’t stand having his sides squeezed. Both of them had booming voices, filling sickbay with a deafening ticklish racket.

To the nurses’ horror, it had been the doctors’ turn then, and Christine had soon found out that there was still worse torture to come than she’d already witnessed. M’Benga had been stretched out on an empty biobed, arms stretched high above his head, shirt hitched up to his chest, and had had to endure 30 fingers on his belly and sides. As she had already told Uhura, Chapel had almost been relieved at first, to see the doctor only writhe and buck a little, giggling and laughing hard, but not seeming terrified.

But that had changed the moment the first finger had found its way into his bellybutton, rendering him insane with ticklish agony within moments. Christine had never heard such high-pitched shrieks from a man, or seen such anguish in someone’s face. Within minutes, M’Benga had been reduced to silent laughter, wheezing out pleas for mercy, desperately begging them to stop, but mostly just fighting for air, visibly on the brink of passing out from the unbearable torment.

When McCoy had been hoisted on an examination table, and a second tickler joined her colleague to rid him of all his clothes except for his briefs, Chapel had wanted to die just watching his eyes bulge in horror. It was obvious that he was well aware of the extent of his own ticklishness, and that just the thought of what he had coming was already killing him.

The nurse had known that McCoy was quite ticklish since an incident when they’d been surprised by the ship suddenly starting to buck, throwing them off balance, and she’d tried to hold on to the doctor to steady herself. Reaching out blindly, she’d grabbed him around the ribs, and he’d almost jumped out of his skin, letting out an actual squeal. When she’d apologised afterwards, he’d been incredibly embarrassed and insisted that she’d just startled him. She’d known better, of course, but had left it at that, not wanting to embarrass him any further. The actual scale of the doctor’s ticklishness, however, had still surprised her today.

And quite obviously, he was ticklish enough to have two of the women take advantage of all his deathly agonising spots. One of the ticklers had straddled his thighs facing his feet, reaching two hands behind her to mercilessly squeeze and tickle just beneath his hips, making the poor doctor shriek and buck violently, while two more hands tormented him all around his knees, causing tears to stream out of his tightly closed eyes, as the fingers squeezed his kneecaps, dug into the backs of his knees and lightly skittered all around the area that proved to be an acutely torturous spot for McCoy.

The two remaining sets of hands were used to viciously assault the doctor’s savagely ticklish soles, his bare feet barely able to endure anyone’s touch at the best of times, now being so fiendishly tormented by 20 devious fingers. Having his toes tickled made him cackle like a madman, his heels reduced him to silent laughter, and his arches rendered him absolutely delirious.

Christine couldn’t understand how anyone this ticklish could even stand a minute of this harrowing ordeal, but then, the doctor didn’t have a choice but to take it, did he? And that wasn’t even the end of it, since McCoy had another tickler fiendishly tormenting his upper body, which proved to be just as inconceivably ticklish as his legs and feet.

The second tickler used two of her hands to hold his arms way above his head, stretching him until his belly was completely taut, then had two hands tickle the hell out of his exposed underarms, focusing every so often on the top ribs right under his armpits, making him yell all kinds of obscenities, his hyper-ticklish body spasming violently, every time they hit that exact, excruciating spot.

The third pair of hands was used to ravage all over his taut belly, which seemed to be horribly ticklish just about everywhere, while the last ten fingers evilly exploited some special sweet spots on his sides, right at the edge to his back, that seemed to be extremely harrowing when slowly circled. Just watching the insanely ticklish doctor’s ordeal made Chapel want to crawl up the walls, the many different reactions to every torturous spot clearly visible in his face and audible in his voice, until they all were attacked at the same time, leaving him a delirious mess, fighting for breath as he was reduced to silent laughter.

As soon as all the men were subjected to their individualised, horrendous torture, the remaining women had released Christine and her colleagues, leaving sickbay to wreak ticklish havoc somewhere else, and immediately locking the doors behind them again. The nurses had instantly hurried to the tickle victims’ sides, trying everything to pull their ticklers off them, or at least prying their fingers off their ticklish targets, but to no avail. They’d tried hitting the women, sedating them, tickling them, like Uhura had tried on the bridge, too, even used all kinds of medical tools on them, but those ticklers seemed to be indestructible. It was horrible.

When she’d accepted that there was nothing they could do, unable to even look the tortured men in the eye, Christine had called the bridge, hoping to get help from the captain. But her conversation with Uhura had put an end to that hope. It really seemed that all men aboard were subjected to this vile, brutal, unimaginably horrific tickle torture.

Looking from Mark and Rob, who were barely coherent and fighting for breath, to Farraday and the other patients, who were lost in their own tickle hell, Chapel went back into the room where M’Benga and McCoy were suffering inconceivable torture, their anguish visible on their faces and in every agonised jolt of their bodies, trying one more time to prise the fiendish fingers off McCoy’s worst spots, while avoiding his eyes that were imploring her to save him from this atrocious ordeal.

And all of a sudden, the tickling stopped.


	3. Chapter 3

It took a while for the laughter to die down, and at first Chapel didn’t even realise that the tickling had actually stopped. The cackles, the panting, the giggles, the twitching and writhing went on for quite some time. Some of the men couldn’t stop for several minutes.

The ticklers, beautiful and indifferent as before, were still holding the men in an iron grip, their fingers still threateningly poised closely over the men’s skin, but not moving at all. As if they’d just been switched off like machines.

‘Tickle machines,’ Chapel thought appalled, as she watched her colleagues hurry to the other men’s sides, checking on them and trying to help them get out of their vulnerable positions. ‘Who’d build something so diabolically cruel and torturous? And for what purpose? And why only to tickle men?’

Mark and Rob were cursing and swearing in between their residual giggles. The strong and beefy orderlies, still held firmly in place despite the tickling having stopped, felt awfully humiliated by having their embarrassing weakness so wickedly exposed and viciously exploited in front of each other and everyone else in sickbay. The memory of how quickly and easily they had been reduced to helplessly ticklish wimps, begging for mercy while being forced to laugh their heads off, made them wish the ground would open up and swallow them.

Farraday was lying motionlessly on the biobed, too weak to even try to extract his hyper-ticklish feet from underneath the woman still straddling his thighs. Miserably whimpering that another tickle attack would surely kill him, he couldn’t stop the terrified tears from streaming down his cheeks, petrified at the mere thought of having to endure those fiendish fingers on the soles of his sensitive feet even for another second.

The other two patients were just staring into the distance, panting and wheezing, totally destroyed by those diabolical fingers that had so cruelly targeted all their absolutely worst spots. Never in their lives had they experienced anything even close to as harrowing as what they’d just gone through. Until now, the possibility of being tickled to death had never even crossed their minds, but now that they’d found out how devastatingly ticklish they were, they’d probably be living in constant fear of anyone even just touching one of those excruciating spots.

M’Benga still had his eyes squeezed shut, unable to recover from the unbearable sensations he’d just been subjected to, terrified to even move an inch for fear of inadvertently brushing against the fiendish finger still hovering closely over his savagely ticklish bellybutton. He’d always been acutely ticklish on his abdomen, and all those fingers torturing him there had been dreadful, sending him into fits of uncontrollable laughter at the first touch. But that a single finger in such a tiny, specific spot could prove so lethal had come as a surprise even to himself.

Looking down at McCoy, whose body seemed to finally grasp that it wasn’t being tickle-tortured anymore, Chapel saw the doctor’s eyes start to focus again.

“I need to get away, Christine. Now. I’ll never live through another tickle attack,” he wheezed, looking imploringly at the nurse, his voice almost gone from all the shrieking and howling with laughter. “Please, Christine, help me get those awful hands off my underarms and ribs. They are the worst, they’ve been killing me. This is such a horrible spot.”

Chapel immediately tried to pull the offending hands away from the doctor’s insanely ticklish topmost ribs, her fingertips inadvertently grazing his skin there ever so lightly in the process, and he promptly exploded into ticklish laughter once again. Startled by McCoy’s violent reaction, the nurse instantly lifted her hands off his sensitive body again, and was taken aback when the doctor just kept howling and bucking, his frenzied laughter getting ever more hysterical as she desperately wondered how to help him.

She was terribly sorry to have set him off again with her accidental touch, and right on this clearly excruciating sweet spot below his armpits, too. But no one was touching him now, and she just couldn't understand why he was still laughing so hard. Until she discovered that he was practically tickling himself, realising that her accidental tickle had caused him to jerk, and his belly to brush against the tickler’s unmoving fingers still poised there. And now he was caught in a cruel, self-reinforcing downward spiral. The more he laughed, the more his belly got tickled by the devilish fingers. And vice versa.

Out of the corner of her eye, Chapel saw M’Benga’s terrified face, watching McCoy’s torture starting anew, probably thinking he’d be next. But now that she’d found the source of the doctor’s current hilarity, she could at least help him and try to make it stop. So, firmly pressing down on the CMO’s hips with both hands, using all her weight and desperation, she thankfully managed to hold him down long enough to put an end to this horrible vicious circle.

The first thing McCoy did when he’d finally recovered from his most recent ordeal, was ask for water. And Chapel, resigning herself to the fact that neither she nor, as it seemed, any of her colleagues could eliminate these horrible tickler-women, or even as much as remove their devious hands from their ticklish prey, went to get him and M’Benga a glass of water, instructing the other nurses to do the same for the other tickle victims.

“If we can’t get away, we need to find a way to immunise ourselves against the tickling,” McCoy declared after having drained the whole glass in one go. “I have an idea, but, obviously, I’ll need you to do the actual work and pray that we’ll have enough time to get it done. I’m really scared that a repeat of what we’ve just suffered through might actually kill us. Or some of us at least. Me probably included.”

The doctor gave a wry grin, and Chapel could see the fear and embarrassment in his eyes, feeling unbelievable hatred towards those ticklers who’d subjected her crewmates to such an atrocious torture. And such a humiliating one to boot.

„Jocelyn’s always said my ticklishness would be the end of me,” McCoy tried to joke. “Although she’d probably hoped she’d be there to watch me die laughing.”

Christine shook her head sadly, only just now realising how mortifying – on top of unbearable – it must have been for McCoy and the others to have their female crew mates witness their humiliating ordeal. “Let’s get started on that immunisation, shall we?”

“Can you get me the captain please?” McCoy went on, careful not to move or even breathe too deeply, so he wouldn’t get himself into another ticklish predicament. “I need to talk to Jim first. He might not be able to be here in time, but he can at least try to get us out of this horrible situation while we work on an immunisation.”

“Doctor,” Chapel said hesitantly, hating to disappoint McCoy, “I’m afraid Captain Kirk won’t be able to help. I’ve already reported our situation to the bridge, and it’s just the same up there. Uhura’s the only one not being tickled, and she’s trying everything to find a way to save you all.”

McCoy’s face went completely white at the news, and Christine immediately understood that he was terrified for Kirk, probably imagining his friend being tickled on his severely ticklish belly. With all her worrying over everyone in sickbay, Chapel had completely forgotten about that. Interminably ticklish all over as she’d just witnessed the CMO to be, the nurse knew that the captain’s belly was still another level of ticklish. And if they’d discovered those off the scale spots on either side of his lower belly, Kirk was possibly dying an agonising death right now. There was no way he could take being tickled there for longer than a second.

Christine and McCoy had encountered lots of ticklish patients over the years, a few of them even so ticklish, she’d actually had to hold them down for the doctor to carry out a simple abdomen check-up or to feel the lymph nodes under their arms or on their necks. But even though they’d never discussed it, she was pretty sure that they’d both never come across anyone as ticklish as Kirk was on his belly.

The merest touch there was enough to reduce the captain to silent laughter almost right away, but the few moments until then he’d laugh so loudly and hysterically that they’d always had to make him the last appointment and wait until no one was around before McCoy could start his examination. Quite understandably, Kirk hadn't wanted anyone witnessing their captain being so completely and helplessly destroyed by a simple physical because of this debilitating weakness.

* * *

When Chapel called the bridge with an update on their current situation, Uhura informed her that the tickling hadn’t only stopped in sickbay, but seemingly everywhere on the ship. According to the report from security, their presumably most ticklish crewmate, Chief Milagros, had passed out from the harrowing tickle torture, obviously causing the ticklers to stop that very instant. Apparently, they were all somehow connected, a hive mind maybe, since the horrible tickling seemed to have stopped all over the ship at the same time, as Uhura had learned from a dozen calls from horrified people of all departments.

Just like Chapel, it had taken Uhura more than a couple of moments to realise that the inhuman torture had come to a halt, when all around her the laughter had started to turn into cursing and whispered pleas for this to be the end. After a good few minutes, the laughter had finally died down, and the only one on the bridge still giggling and occasionally squealing was poor Sulu, whose armpits were still being firmly gripped by the vicious hands, thus invariably finding himself in a ticklish predicament, even though the hands had stopped vibrating.

This time, Uhura’s first instinct had understandably taken her to Sulu. To try and help him somehow free his armpits of the heinous fingers that kept cruelly tickling him there, even though in actual fact they weren’t. At least not actively. But, as more or less expected, it was no use. All Uhura had managed to do was tickle Sulu even worse, until he’d been howling with laughter again and begged her to stop trying.

She just didn’t have the strength. No human probably had. And, apparently, neither had Vulcans, she’d thought defeatedly, or Spock would certainly have done something by then. Her heart had broken glancing over at the first officer, still lying on the floor with his bare feet up in the vicelike grip of his tickler, his hair dishevelled and his fringe matted to his forehead - she’d never seen the Vulcan sweat before - his face streaked with dried tears of forced mirth, his body still twitching with ghost tickles on his deadly ticklish soles, eyes closed in an attempt at meditation, maybe to gather the strength to escape from his vulnerable position, but more likely just to brace himself for the next excruciating tickle attack.

Would there be another one? Uhura shuddered at the thought. But, realistically, since those atrocious women were still here, still holding the men with their most ticklish spots perfectly exposed for their fiendish torture, it was to be expected. So, time was of the essence.

From Sulu, Uhura had hurried over to Chekov, who’d weakly called out to her, so completely exhausted and destroyed by what must surely be his worst nightmare, that she’d almost not heard him.

“Please, Nyota”, he’d whispered, quite obviously scared senseless, “help us. Do something! Anything! Because I just couldn't take any more of this. It would kill me. You know how horribly ticklish I am. And how much I hate tickling. I just can’t stand it. This is the most hellacious torture I’ve ever endured, and I’m scared.”

All Uhura had been able to do was pat Pavel’s hair reassuringly and promise to think of something. She hadn’t even tried to get him out from under the ticklers still sitting on his arms and ankles. It would have been useless anyway, and, seeing how she’d only succeeded in tickling Sulu even more in her attempts to free him, she hadn’t dared to try anything on poor, hyper-ticklish Chekov.

With another glance at Scotty, who was actually whimpering and staying completely motionless in his certainly uncomfortable position, probably for fear of accidentally brushing his back against those diabolic fingers if he moved, and Kirk, whose belly was quite obviously so unspeakably ticklish that the captain was only just recovering from his harrowing ordeal, Uhura had gone back to her console to check in with security. There she’d learned what she’d just told Christine. 

After Uhura and Chapel had quickly updated each other, the nurse put McCoy on speaker, so that he could talk to the captain. If the latter was up to it, of course.

“Are you all right, Jim?” the doctor’s concerned voice sounded across the bridge. “Did they get you on your …”

“Don’t even say it Bones!” Kirk hastily cut him short, his voice weak and rough from his excruciating ordeal, then fearfully asked, “Can one die from this, Bones? Can one actually be tickled to death?”

“I honestly don’t know, Jim” McCoy replied miserably. “But if those sadistic monsters start again, I’ll certainly wish I were dead.”

After a brief moment of silence, while probably every single man on the bridge and in sickbay contemplated this horrifying possibility, the CMO went on to quickly explain his idea about how to immunise them against the fiendish tickling.

“Brilliant, Bones,” Kirk exclaimed, “get on with that right away. That could really be a life saver. In the meantime, I’ll try to do something from here. Now that I’m finally able to think clearly again, maybe I can communicate with our 'guests'.”

“Anything but that, Jim!” came McCoy’s terrified response. “If you wake them up before I’m done, we’re screwed! We have no idea what they might do to us next.”

“Certainly couldn’t be worse than what they already did,” the captain replied morosely.

“I wouldn’t bet on that. But even if they don’t do anything worse, I can’t guarantee that either you or I or any of the others would make it through a repeat of even just the same alive.”

That jolted Kirk into action. And just before he had Uhura close the channel to sickbay, Chapel quickly told her to keep the men hydrated. So, the communications officer got her crew mates glasses of water and helped them drink, with only a minor incident, when a drop of water accidentally landed on Kirks belly, naturally hitting the perfect spot, and the captain almost choked, jerking hard and spluttering, and exploding into frantic giggles.

When Uhura had apologised profusely, and Kirk had recovered, he made her open a channel to security, where Mitchel and Rand were over the moon to hear the captain’s voice. Considering that time was absolutely of the essence, however, he cut their worried questions short.

“Is Milagros still unconscious?” Kirk asked.

“Yes, still out like a light,” Mitchel confirmed.

“Good. Whatever you do, don’t wake him,” the captain ordered. “I feel we’re on a clock here, and as long as he’s out, we’ll be safe. Let us know the moment he comes to! Unless we already feel it before you do.”

Kirk had added that last sentence with a smirk, but Uhura could see the actual terror at the thought in his eyes.

“Aye, Sir! Good luck, Sir!” Mitchel replied, trying to sound all business while helpless to imagine the unshakable and highly respected captain being tickled out of his mind just like all her male crewmates around her had been only minutes ago, and secretly wondering if – and where – he was just as horrendously ticklish.

Next, Kirk asked Uhura to open a ship wide channel, so that he could address his whole crew.

“This is the captain speaking. I know that you’ve probably all just been through hell, suffering or being forced to helplessly watch a fiendish and highly torturous physical attack on our male crew members. And I want to assure you that we’re working at high speed on finding a way to fight the attackers or at least protect ourselves against another harrowing assault. Hang in there, and please report any important or helpful information directly to the bridge! Captain out.”

After he’d ended his speech, trying to block out Sulu’s ongoing tortured giggles and wincing in sympathy at every anguished squeal or shriek still being forced out of the poor ticklish helmsman, he called Uhura to his side.

“Please, try again to get those horrible hands off me,” he asked her. “At least the bottom ones on my lower belly. I just couldn’t stand another second of being tickled there, and it’s awfully hard for me to think straight with those devilish fingers still hovering right over those evil spots.”

Uhura nodded in understanding, and taking a deep breath, trying to summon up all her strength, grabbed one of the hands with both of hers, pulling with all her might. But, unsurprisingly, she couldn't get them to move even an inch, while, despite her best efforts, failing to keep her fingers from inadvertently tickling Kirk’s belly in the process. The captain’s ensuing agonised shriek and violent jerk, although really not unexpected, still gave her a terrible scare, and Uhura, feeling terribly embarrassed, immediately stopped and pulled her hands back again.

“I’m so sorry, Captain,” she apologised while Kirk tried to calm his breath and get his act back together.

“No, please keep trying, Nyota,” Kirk said determinedly. “No matter how much it tickles. I really need to get those abominable fingers away from me. I’ll surely die if they start tormenting me again.”

So, Uhura put her fingers back on the tickler’s hands, pulling, and squeezing, and pinching, even biting, and Kirk tried to take the excruciating tickling it caused, cackling, howling, screaming and kicking like crazy. Until, after a couple of minutes, he just couldn’t stand it anymore and begged her to stop. It was useless.

Watching Kirk slowly calm down again after she’d taken her hands off him, weirdly fascinated by how long the ticklish sensations obviously kept tormenting him, Uhura was ashamed to admit, even to herself, that, although she’d only tried to help and had, of course, not purposely tickled the captain, a tiny little part of her had actually found a certain sadistic pleasure in inflicting such ticklish torture on him with only the merest touch of her fingers.

“Are you really this ticklish, Captain?” she couldn't help asking. “I mean, what are they doing to you? To all of you, to make you suffer so horrendously? How is everyone so acutely sensitive to tickling?”

“I’m really this ticklish, Uhura,” the captain sighed embarrassedly. “And those fiendish women somehow just know exactly what spots to target and how to exploit them most deviously.”

“I’m sure Dr. McCoy can come up with the right serum to immunise you against this vicious torment in time,” Uhura smiled encouragingly at Kirk. “He usually doesn’t disappoint.”

“I’m confident he will,” the captain replied with a cautiously hopeful expression. “Let’s just hope he has all his wits about him after this awful ordeal, which must have been really harrowing for him, too, since I know that, unfortunately, the good doctor happens to be exceedingly ticklish, too.”

Uhura shuddered at Kirk’s words, knowing only too well how right the captain was. After all, just like Chekov and Milagros, the doctor had been ticklish enough to be subjected to the devastating ministrations of even two ticklers.

Her answer, however, was lost in the unexpectedly renewed hilarity that suddenly filled the bridge once more, as all the ticklers' vicious fingers were set into motion again, and all hell broke loose as her violently ticklish crew mates erupted into tormented laughter and screams, easily surpassing anything Uhura had ever heard from them before.


	4. Chapter 4

‘It seems Milagros is with us again,’ was all Uhura could think, as she turned towards her console, away from her crew mates’ harrowing and noisy ordeal, accepting that the only thing she could really do to help them was attempting to get off the bridge as quickly as possible and find a way to end this sadistic attack once and for all.

While she was frantically working to open the respective panel to get to the circuits underneath, trying to block out the ticklish howls and desperate pleas for mercy behind her, both Mitchel and Chapel contacted the bridge to let her know that the devious tickling was back in full swing again all over the ship. And even more excruciating than before, if the men’s crazed laughter was anything to go by.

But Uhura didn’t allow their discouraging reports, nor the tormented shrieks and cackling of her male crewmates on the bridge, to distract her from her task, aware that time was clearly of the essence, since every second of this heinous torture was one second too many. And even though the men had really no choice but to take it, she didn’t think they could last very much longer. She certainly couldn't imagine enduring such diabolical tickling at all.

Totally engrossed in her work, Uhura didn’t even look up when the tickling suddenly seemed to stop again, the cackling and howling slowly turning into panting, coughing, and uncensored cursing. Whatever the reason, she was just grateful that her friends were granted some relief again. But she surely wasn’t going to waste any more precious time to futilely search for the tickler-women’s non-existent weaknesses.

Only when the giggling started anew, and she heard a completely new and unexpected growling sound, followed by a high-pitched shriek and then a deep, desperate belly-laugh to her left, did she stop to investigate. One look at Spock made her blood curdle. He’d already been suffering terribly before, no doubt about that, but while he hadn’t been able to make any sound to express his ticklishness up to now, the sounds that were now being forced out of him, as his feet were tormented in an obviously even more cruel way, tore at Uhura’s heart.

Apparently, while humans fell into silent laughter when the tickling got too intense, the opposite seemed to be true for the Vulcan, forcing the very first sounds out of him and coercing him into seriously ticklish, howling laughter. Uhura couldn't imagine what he was going through, as he lay there on his back, his head thrashing from side to side, desperate fists ceaselessly pounding the deck, his back arching wildly, and his whole torso practically bouncing off the floor to the rhythm of the tickler’s devilish nails scratching under his sensitive toes.

Looking closer, Uhura noticed that not even all hands were currently engaged in torturing the first officer’s ticklish feet. Two hands were hanging idly by the woman’s side, while two more hands had gripped Spock’s toes and were forcefully pulling them back, to fiendishly give the only ten nails that were actually doing the tickling unrestricted access to the vulnerable area between the pads of his toes and the balls of his feet: the highly responsive stems of his hyper-ticklish toes.

There was no tickling his soles now, or his heels, or his arches. The excruciating torture was concentrated solely on this one, obviously deathly area, and Uhura felt the hair on her neck stand up as she watched the torturous nails relentlessly skitter left and right under Spock’s toes, reducing the normally so restrained Vulcan to a screeching, howling, insanely ticklish mess.

Finally tearing her eyes away from Spock, Uhura let her gaze sweep across the bridge, discovering that all the other bridge officers currently seemed to be subjected to tickling in one spot only as well. And, unsurprisingly of course, in what she suspected to be their worst spots, too, thus freeing at least one set of every tickler’s hands. To do what, Uhura didn’t even dare to think about.

Her only-one-spot theory was confirmed, when there were more and more desperate cries and collective pleas for “Not there!” or “Anywhere but there!” mixed in with the howling laughter and hysterical cackling. Those women knew exactly which spots to choose, and how to tickle them to the most excruciating effect. How they could have obtained such specific information was beyond Uhura.

Kirk seemed to have it worst, but it had been pretty obvious from the start that the poor captain’s belly was off the scale ticklish. Especially those spots on either side of his lower belly, that were now being mercilessly targeted. No more than two fingers, hardly moving at all, were absolutely killing him. His fists, held up high in the air, were helplessly clenching and unclenching. His feet were alternating between frantic kicking and desperate stomping. His mouth wide open in ticklish agony, he could hardly breathe from laughing so hard. It seemed that focusing on this one excruciating spot was even worse for him than the tickling of all hands together, in all those tickle spots, had been.

The same appeared to be true for Scotty, whose death spots near the back rims of his armpits were being cruelly exploited, a mere finger drilling into this diabolical spot on either side reducing him to almost silent laughter, tears streaming down his face, as his whole body was bouncing up and down in his chair, practically hitting the roof with every devious poke at these two, highly torturous spots.

Sulu’s worst spot, surprisingly, were obviously not his insanely ticklish ribs or hips, but the backs of his thighs. The light, feathering touches there, nails maddeningly scratching and scribbling right underneath his buttocks had him giggling like a maniac, his laboured gulps for air seriously worrying Uhura. And from his wide-open eyes, shining almost comically bright in his dark crimson face, it almost seemed that these particular spots, or the degree of his ticklishness there, or possibly both, had come as quite a surprise to him, too.

As for Chekov, Uhura could barely bring herself to look at him. The boy was slowly, but surely losing his mind, oblivious to his surroundings and totally consumed by this tickle hell. His face twisted, and his body shaking with uncontrollable laughter, his two ticklers were alternating between drilling into the creases between his hips and thighs, easily the worst spot Uhura could imagine on herself, and those awful spots high on either side of his stomach that made him screech and yell “Nyet!” with every single scratch of a devilish fingernail there.

It seemed the two ticklers were comparing spots, trying to gauge which was more ticklish, almost making it look like a competition. Stomach, creases, both at once, stomach, creases, both at once, the vicious routine all but killing poor Chekov. Even more so, since each of them now had three sets of hands free to pin him down even harder, thus rendering him completely immobile and robbing him of the slightest chance to alleviate his suffering by writhing or bouncing and escaping the harrowing touches for even a second.

Uhura briefly wondered, why the ticklers hadn’t chosen those deadly spots on the boy’s lower belly, knowing fully well how he couldn't even bear to be touched there. Unbearably ticklish and easily accessible under the hem of his shirt and right above the waist of his uniform pants, the area had been a popular, and always highly successful target in most every tickle fight.

To her shame, she realised only now, how torturous and not fun at all those tickle fights must have been for Pavel, vowing never again to stand by and watch people doing this to him, let alone participate herself. And considering how devastating those evil spots had always proven for Chekov, she could only imagine how much worse the tickler’s chosen spots on his stomach had to be.

For everyone but Chekov, it was merely one spot that was being abused, albeit with unmatched efficiency, and it had barely been two minutes, but already the men had tears of laughter streaming down their cheeks, their faces glistening wet from the most intense torture yet. Even Spock’s.

Uhura tried to double her efforts in finding a way out of this obnoxious predicament for her suffering friends, but just as she was about to turn back to her task, her attention was captured by the tickler-women reaching inside some pocket in their garments with their free hands and pulling out strange little devices.

Never ceasing their harrowing assault on the men’s most ticklish spots, they held one of these kind of sucking devices to the corners of each man’s eyes, starting to collect their tears.

So this was about the men’s tears? Uhura was completely taken aback. Wouldn’t there have been a kinder way to get them? If they were after tears of laughter, surely a good joke might have done the trick! Unless they had to be tears of ticklish laughter. Maybe the agony added some ingredient?

Incredulously watching as the ticklers impassively continued to harvest the ticklish tears, their containers slowly filling up while the men were being driven insane by the unceasing, devious torment of their most ticklish spots, Uhura just hoped that they’d finally got what they’d come for and would leave the men alone now.

However, they kept up their diabolical torment even after they’d stowed away their devices again, all their hands joining back in with the devious assault now, as if searching for still more effective ways to tickle the men out of their minds. Uhura couldn't help feeling that the ticklers, unmoved as they might appear, were getting actual sadistic pleasure out of reducing her friends to begging, hiccupping, incoherent pictures of ticklish misery.

Feeling her own skin prickle and tingle in sympathy, she quickly turned back to her circuits, glad to be nearly done, and breathing a sigh of relief, when the tormented laughter behind her started to abate again, her friends obviously being granted another respite.

* * *

In sickbay, Christine let out a long, relieved breath, when the ticklers finally stopped their assault and let the men catch their breath. The first thing she did while the tickle victims still giggled and twitched away, was to call the bridge, only to learn that the same obnoxious thing had just happened there, too.

When the tickling had first started again, exploiting all the men’s tickle spots even more expertly and effectively than before, the nurse had been sure it couldn't get any worse. Only to be proven wrong moments later, when, to the men’s utter horror, the ticklers had suddenly begun to focus on one spot only. Everybody’s absolute death spot, of course, which the tickler-women apparently had had no difficulty singling out.

Chapel hadn’t even collected all the ingredients for McCoy’s protective serum, let alone started on producing it, when the first desperate pleas to be tickled “anywhere but there” had been roared across sickbay. And when she’d hurried back to the two doctors’ side, she’d immediately seen that all the tickling on M’Benga’s belly had stopped, but for the one diabolical finger viciously attacking his belly-button. If she’d thought he’d had it bad before, he was now literally being destroyed, his agony seeming to have multiplied by having nothing but his very worst spot so cruelly tormented.

Almost frozen with horror, Christine had forced herself to look at McCoy, whose frantic pleading, choked out between fits of the most hysterical laughter, had made her skin crawl. Like with M’Benga, each one of his ticklers had chosen a single spot to focus on, thus seeming to raise the CMO’s suffering to unprecedented levels. Chapel hadn’t been surprised to see those excruciating spots right underneath his armpits being assaulted, causing the doctor’s body to arch like mad and practically lift off the biobed with every devious clawing poke there, forcing the strangest sounds from McCoy as he was shaking with helpless laughter.

Christine had, however, been rather taken aback when she’d discovered which spot his lower-body tickler had chosen. Having observed the doctor’s reactions to the various foot tickling techniques earlier, she would have sworn there wasn’t possibly a more ticklish spot on his body than his arches. She must have been wrong, though, because what had the doctor kicking and bucking and going completely ballistic, at least as far as his restrained position would allow, had been maddeningly light tickling behind his knees. His legs had seemed to be virtually vibrating in ticklish agony, as ten devious nails had been sadistically scribbling over and fluttering against his skin in those harrowing spots.

Unable to watch the CMO’s crippling ordeal any longer, Chapel had hurried to where her fellow nurses had been standing, mesmerised by everyone else’s renewed torment.

Mark, still being held a few inches above the floor by his hips and helplessly flopping around like a fish out of water, had had his neck, specifically the area right behind and underneath his ears, devilishly exploited, and was squealing and giggling and screaming in a voice so high-pitched, it had seemed impossible to come from such a bear of a man.

And Rob, still pinned face down with his horrendously ticklish back exposed, had been tormented between his shoulder blades, where his tickler seemed to have found a devastatingly sensitive spot on either side of his spine, the lightly spidering nails there making him cry out in anguish and slam his face down on the biobed in ticklish agony every time he tried to catch his breath after another fit of hysterical cackling.

Letting her gaze drift over to the patients, Chapel had gasped in shock when she’d caught sight of Farraday’s inconceivable torture. The poor man had practically been doing sit-ups, incessantly jerking upright and flopping back down on his back as the soles of his feet were mercilessly abused, screaming laughter and looking positively demented.

While his soles had seemed like one huge, incredibly torturous tickle spot to Christine earlier, his tickler had obviously managed to single out one tiny spot on the balls of his feet, right underneath his big toes, that seemed to be even worse than the rest. A single fingernail sadistically scratching this very specific spot on each sole, had been enough to literally tickle him to insanity.

Witnessing Farraday’s heinous torment, even McCoy’s ordeal had seemed to fade in comparison, and Chapel had felt a renewed bout of hatred for those atrocious women who didn’t shy back from exploiting such vulnerability and figuring out ever more horrendous ways to push an already so incredibly suffering man past his limits.

Tearing her eyes away from Farraday to check on the other two patients, she’d found that the ticklers had obviously determined their most excruciating spots, too, and were evilly abusing them. The two men, who’d already provided the noisiest suffering in sickbay during the first attack, were now literally laughing their heads off, as one had his exposed armpits viciously stroked and poked and prodded, while the other had to endure ten diabolical fingernails maddeningly skittering all over his insanely ticklish belly.

Watching and listening to everyone’s hellish agony, it had hit Christine that she’d never seen so much ticklishness in one place, briefly wondering if men in general, although maybe better at hiding it, were somehow more ticklish than women, and if that was the reason they’d been targeted in the first place.

Helpless to do anything else, she’d gone back to preparing everything for McCoy’s serum, hoping against hope that they’d still get the chance to put his idea into practice. While she’d been running around frantically to have everything ready as quickly as possible, she’d watched the ticklers collect the men’s ticklish tears in little bottles, just as they had obviously done on the bridge, too. And just like Uhura, she’d half expected this whole nightmare to be over once they’d got what they’d apparently come for.

She should have known better, of course. Although the tickler-women’s stoic expressions had never faltered, Christine hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that they had drawn out their tear-milking procedure far longer than strictly necessary, just for their own pleasure. 

There had been another moment of hope, when the women had put the tear-filled bottles back in their garments, but when the tickling had stopped once again without the ticklers actually letting the men go or even just removing their tickle-fingers, it had been clear that this was still not the end of the ticklish invasion.

So, trying not to even think about what else might be in store for her impossibly ticklish male crew mates, Chapel pushed the trolley with all the ingredients McCoy had had her collect towards the doctor’s room, coming to a halt right next to the biobed where he was currently fighting his way back down from his most recent ticklish frenzy.

“Let’s get started, Doctor,” she smiled comfortingly at the bleary-eyed CMO, who was still shaking and twitching and taking in huge gulps of air.

“Yes, let’s, Christine,” he croaked, “can’t afford to waste another minute!”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  
> I own nothing of Star Trek


End file.
